


Forsaken

by grumpyhedgehogs



Series: Failures and Saviors [1]
Category: Far Cry 5, Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: Accusations, Allusions to imprisonment, Angst, Confrontations, Gen, Grief, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Series, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 07:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20060089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyhedgehogs/pseuds/grumpyhedgehogs
Summary: First in a series of interconnected oneshots where the Judge confronts their old friends in Prosperity. Father Jerome, you're up.





	Forsaken

**Author's Note:**

> I’m the saltiest bitch alive when it comes to how the Deputy was treated in New Dawn and I must air my grievances publicly. Take a thousand plus word installments about my displeasure and enjoy them. At some point I may give them a happy ending.

“Why didn’t you save me?”

It was the first thing he’d heard them say since the end of the world.

Their voice was rusty; it creaked across the space between them, dug its hooks into Jerome’s flesh and burrowed deep into his brain like a parasite. As soon as it was spoken Jerome knew he would have to live with that sentence echoing in his ears for the rest of his life. Because it was a  _ good _ question, one he had asked himself many a time: why didn’t he save them? Why didn’t he try?

He rose from the seat he’d taken under the peach tree in Prosperity. It was early evening and the barbecue the Ryes had put on was weighing heavily in his gut. The warmth from the food had been pleasant until a few seconds ago; now it lit a burning in his chest Jerome could never pass off as heartburn. The idyllic scene he’d been enjoying soured; the shadows he’d been watching dance playfully across the yard seemed longer now, deeper, darker. The breeze no longer contained the sweet smell of peach blossoms, instead his nose filled with the scent of long gone ash. 

And there they stood, a reminder of the old world. Of his failure.

The Judge had changed since the Highwaymen were brought low. They were softer somehow; still silent, they were more likely to sit on the outskirts of the fire pit and listen to the songs and stories of Prosperity instead of disappearing into the night as they used to. They hunted alone still but were now wont to drop carcasses at Prosperity’s gates like a cat leaving gifts for its owner. Just yesterday, Jerome and Nana had watched, amazed, as they had knelt and let one of the children stroke the fur lining of their bulky jacket. 

But some things never changed- and one of those was the mask. It never budged, never wore down, never let prying eyes past the carved wooden barrier. It never let anything else out either.

Until tonight.

“Deputy,” Jerome breathed when he’d finally forced breath into his lungs again. It was hard to find his feet but the pastor did it anyway. “Deputy…”

“Why didn’t you come for me?” Their shoulders hunched, hands twisted in front of them. The mask was tilted down, away from him. Jerome’s chest was too tight. “I needed- I wanted- why didn’t you save me, Father?”

“Deputy,” he said again. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I was screaming, Father. I screamed for so long. And no one came. You didn’t come.”

“I’m sorry.” What else was there to say? “But I wasn’t there, at the end. And when I got out, there were people who needed my help, so I-”

“You knew it was me.” It was disturbing how their voice never changed from a monotone. Like they’d forgotten how to feel. Like they’d been forced to forget. “You said our paths diverged. You said you didn’t know me anymore.” At that, their head snapped up and even though he couldn’t see them, Jerome felt eyes boring into his soul. “But you do. You know me. That’s why you hate me.”

“No!” He started forward, unheeding of the people he’d startled with the sudden exclamation. But the Judge drew back a step and he let his hands fall from where they were outstretched. “No, I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”

Their head tilted. “You do, though; you wouldn’t have left me there otherwise.”

The words fell upon his shoulders like the drop of a guillotine. For the first time in a long time, Jerome was at a loss; he was supposed to be the bastion of hope, knowledge, faith. And here he was, cowering. 

The pause made the Judge take another step away and when they next spoke their voice was higher now. Some emotion bled through, coloring their words with some kind of feeling Jerome couldn’t place. It would almost have made him feel better if it were anger, outrage. In his heart of hearts, he might have admitted to himself it was grief. “You wouldn’t have left me if you didn’t hate me?”

“I- I’m sorry, Deputy.”

“No...No…” They were shaking, their shoulders stiff, their hands rising to clutch at the sides of the mask. His lungs had stopped working long ago. “You wouldn’t have left me there. You wouldn’t have left me with him. If you loved me- if you were still my friend you would have come for me. You would have come. You would have tried.”

They were pleading but Jerome had nothing to give. 

“You- you would have  _ tried _ . It was me; I did something wrong. I didn’t save everyone, I didn’t help enough. I let the world fall apart and you hated me for it and you didn’t come because I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough to save, that’s why you didn’t come. Because- because if-”

People were staring at them now and Jerome wished desperately they were alone, that the Judge (but they never  _ really _ were the Judge, were they?) hadn’t spoken to him, that the world hadn’t ended. He tried to reach out again and flinched when the Deputy recoiled with surprising violence. Their breath was coming in great wheezing huffs, their chest hitching so much he could see it through the gloom. 

_ Panic attack, _ noted some distant voice in Jerome’s head.  _ They used to get panic attacks. _

Their words cut like knives as they forced them out. “Because if we were still friends you would have saved me.”

His throat was too tight, his hands too clammy, his feet like cinder blocks when he tried to move towards the ruins of a good friend. But he had to do it, he had to show them they were wrong.

He had to make amends.

But as Jerome took that first step forward the Judge reeled back. They shot away from him, from the fire pit where people were just starting to rise in question, from Prosperity altogether, fleeing out the open gates, disappearing like a ghost in the night.

And Jerome failed them once again.


End file.
